


ANGELS CAN FLY INTO THE SUN

by AgnesClementine



Category: Julie and The Phantoms (TV)
Genre: Alex Mercer-centric (Julie and The Phantoms), Author Is Not Religious, Cathatric Blasphemy (thank you Moony), Churches & Cathedrals, Gen, I Don't Even Know, Religious Imagery & Symbolism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-02
Updated: 2021-01-02
Packaged: 2021-03-12 16:08:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,503
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28513155
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AgnesClementine/pseuds/AgnesClementine
Summary: Luke won’t tell him where they’re going, but eventually, the streets morph into a familiar path, down past his parents’ house that stands unchanged despite everything, and then Bobby is parking them in front of Alex’s old church.
Relationships: Bobby | Trevor Wilson & Alex Mercer & Luke Patterson & Reggie Peters
Comments: 12
Kudos: 44





	ANGELS CAN FLY INTO THE SUN

**Author's Note:**

> Listen. What better way to enter a whole new year than with a little bit of desecration of church property?
> 
> That being said, while I am Christian, I'm not religious at all and I have no idea how mild or strong blasphemy is here but I don't mean to offend anyone with this. To put it plainly, the boys burn some paintings inside Alex's old church, so if that bothers you, maybe you should skip this fic- I really don't want to make anyone uncomfortable.
> 
> (Also, I've never been inside an American?? Church??? So any inaccuracies are just me being lazy with research ahhdfv)
> 
> Anyway, let me know what you think and hopefully enjoy??

Alex can sometimes hear the organs playing during the mass as he’s sinking into sleep in Patterson’s spare bedroom, limbs and chest heavy with centuries worth of sins he hasn’t committed. On good nights, he dreams of lying on the polished, stone floor, the air cool and fresh against his skin and in his lungs, sunlight bright and falling over him through glass-less windows. On bad nights, he’s crucified on the altar, choking on Christ’s body and his blood while the Sunday crowd chants.

Tonight, he’s sprawled over Luke’s couch in the studio, Bobby strumming his guitar on the sofa next to him. Alex’s cross is burning a stamp into his skin but he doesn’t want it on display, so he just clutches it in his palm.

Reggie is fiddling with the settings on his amp, and Luke is scratching words into his lyrics book, and it’s cold and foggy outside and no one is going anywhere.

At least until Luke closes his notebook with a smack and jumps to his feet. “Alright, boys,” he says, “let’s get going!”

Bobby and Reggie comply immediately. Alex stays on the couch.

“Come on, Alex,” Reggie tells him. He closes his fingers around Alex’s wrist, thumb over his pulse-point, and tugs him  _ upupup _ until he’s vertical.

“Where are we going?” He asks, dropping the cross inside the collar of his hoodie- it settles over his breastbone like a stone.

Luke grins like a bonfire and says, “It’s a surprise.”

They get into Bobby’s pick-up, Reggie pulling him along as if they were stumbling through the dark. The dampness outside clings to them, builds condensation on the windows and the paint-job. It rained and it’s going to rain again, Alex can feel it.

The interior of the car is cherry juice stains on the upholstery and scuffed marks of Luke’s sneakers on the dashboard, receipts and wrappers and crumpled tissues crunching beneath their feet, flaking with dried blood from the time Luke had a nosebleed and nobody bothered to throw them away just yet. 

The radio blasts _Stairway to Heaven_ as they drive through the streets. Streetlamps glow like suburban stars, drawing in moths, and Alex wonders which one is he.

He used to be golden, he used to glow, but now he feels like a moth dancing around the flames, getting closer and closer to being burnt alive with each breath he takes. His skin itches, like it’s too tight.

Luke won’t tell him where they’re going, but eventually, the streets morph into a familiar path, down past his parents’ house that stands unchanged despite everything, and then Bobby is parking them in front of Alex’s old church.

It’s small and old and Alex stares at the front door that’s like a gaping maw in his dreams, ready to swallow him up and dissolve him in its acidic belly while God and all of his angels watch.

“What are we doing here?” He asks, leaning into the front seat while his fingers dig into the padding, knuckles turning white, bone trying to escape the skin.

“We’ll show you, come on,” Luke says, whipping a small pair of bolt cutters from beneath the seat like a magician would pull a rabbit out of his hat. He jumps out of the car and starts towards the sprawling steps of the church.

“What is he doing?” Alex hisses at Bobby.

His grin is electric and he’s unbuckling his seat and cracking his door open when he says, “Come out and you’ll find out.”

Alex watches him go and allows Reggie to drag him along, heart jack-hammering in his ears, like drums announcing slaughter.

Luke struggles with the lock until Bobby steps in to help him, the metal snapping like bones; like they’re cracking open someone’s ribcage. Stepping over the threshold feels like walking into a different era, a different dimension. Saints look down on them from the thick, cold walls, passing their judgment, and the air smells of damp stone and mold. 

Reggie yanks him along and they are well inside when Alex realizes he forgot to dip his fingers in holy water by the door and cross himself. He feels a vicious twist of pride at that.

“Fucking creepy,” Bobby mutters next to him, eyeing the painting of Mary, the Blessed Virgin, mounted above the pews.

Alex feels his whole body going numb, something hot and strangling uncurling in his chest at the memories of fighting back tears as the preacher talked about being unholy and the crowd echoed in agreement. How the rosemary dug into his palms while his father’s fingers dug into his shoulder.

Reggie, Luke, and Bobby watch him- the only sets of eyes here that matter- as he trembles, fraying at the seams, finally.

Luke claps his hands, thunder to the lightning in his eyes as he says, “Let’s do it.”

They scatter around the church and Alex watches, still lost to what they’re doing here. His best friends are a sea and he’s a boat; unable to do anything but sway with them.

They pulled the door closed behind them, but the chill still bites at his fingertips.

Luke and Bobby start prying the depictions of the Way of the Cross- or  _ Via Crucis  _ or  _ Way of Sorrow _ \- off the wall. They yank down the 11th station- Jesus nailed to the Cross; crucified and praying for others’ forgiveness,  _ Father, forgive them, for they know not what they do _ \- and drop it in front of the altar where the wooden frame clatters against the stone floor like a crack in the sky.

Alex feels it echo in his ears, the fine tremor of it along his spine as memories of praying and believing that things will be okay spring into his mind, now tainted with the taste of copper in his mouth from biting his tongue. And then the tension snaps like a whip and Alex moves.

His fingers cramp around the wooden frame of the 12th station- Jesus dies at the Cross- and the frames of the 13th and 14th crack when he tosses them on a heap. Religion was his parents’ noose around his neck and he’s cutting off the rope.

The noise they’re making almost matches the beating of his heart against his ribcage, his pulse throbbing. He’s lit up, he’s unraveling, his resentment spilling all over the floor for the Lord Almighty and all of his angels and Saints to see. 

Reggie helps him with the 5th station- Simon of Cyrene helps Jesus carry the Cross- and Luke helps him with the 6th- Veronica wipes the face of Jesus- and Bobby with the 8th- Jesus meets the women of Jerusalem. 

When Jesus meets his Mother, Alex twists the cross off his necklace and tosses it onto the growing heap on the floor, paintings torn and crooked, and his chest stops burning.

Together, the four of them pry the 1st station off the wall- Jesus is condemned to death; _"Are you ~~the King of the Jews?~~ abomination, filthy, unholy?" - "You have said so.”_\- and then Bobby ventures out to his car for a canister of lighter fluid, pressing a box of matches into Alex’s palm.

As they pour the fuel over the canvas, the skies split open in a harsh downpour outside. Alex lights the match on a first try; a small ember of light before he drops it and the flames erupt from the ground. Gates of Hell open on the sacred ground, but Alex doesn’t believe and doesn’t fear a lot of things anymore and the smoke only stinks of burning chemicals from the paint instead of sulfur. 

It’s going to creep into the pores of everything here and during the next mass, when people will be singing the hymns, their throats will clog up with residue and their eyes will sting. 

Alex is still unraveling, infinite, and watches his resentment burn from the first pew, Luke, Reggie, and Bobby at his side. The pressure builds and builds and then Alex exhales in tandem with the crackling of the fire, with little embers going up into the air, chipped away and floating, and he’s suddenly so light he might float away with them.

The fire devours the linen first, then starts eating away at the frames, taking, taking, taking, thriving. This is for Alex, but they all feel it. Alex holds Luke’s and Bobby’s hand, feels Reggie prop his chin on his shoulder, their faces flushed from the heat and gravitating forth at the same time while holding each other back, balancing on the cusp of  _ we’re done giving away pieces of ourselves to everyone  _ as the storm rages outside.

When the fire dies, Bobby nudges his charred cross out of the ashes and they wrap it into an old burger wrapper from the car and they all get soaked to the bones, cold and shivering, when they follow Alex onto the pier where he tosses it into the sea- but that’s alright because they’re not the ones drowning.

**Author's Note:**

> Luke's bloody tissues in the car are a shout out to [Hilow's](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/view/theobligatedklutz) hc that Luke has chronic nosebleeds and keeps balled up tissues in his pockets


End file.
